The Ape Who Guards the Balance (46 page)

Emerson’s expression showed what he thought of that optimistic assessment. “They ought to have had a door in place days ago. Sir Edward, is the photographer . . . Where the devil is he?”

He was referring to Sir Edward, not the photographer. Emerson glared wildly round the room, as if expecting to see the young man lurking in the shadows.

“He has probably slept late,” I replied. “As he is entitled to do, especially on such a day as this. The inclement weather will keep most people away from the Valley today, I expect.”

“Hmmm.” Emerson fingered the cleft in his chin and looked thoughtful. “Including Maspero and Davis. Hothouse plants, both of them.”

“That is neither fair nor accurate, my dear.”

“Who gives a curse?” Emerson demanded. “Ramses, haven’t you finished?”

“Yes, sir.” Ramses rose obediently, stuffing the last of his toast into his mouth.

“I have not finished,” I declared, reaching for the marmalade.

“Hurry up, then, if you are coming.” Emerson eyed me speculatively. “Er—Peabody, why don’t you stay at home today? The weather is unpleasant, and I don’t need you. Nefret, you stay with her and make certain she is—er—kept busy.”

Gray skies over Luxor are so unusual as to amount to a portent. Perhaps it was the weather that affected my nerves. It could not have been Emerson’s crude attempt to distract me, for he does that sort of thing all the time. I flung the marmalade spoon down on the table, spattering the cloth with sticky bits.

“If you think I am going to allow you to go to the Valley and meddle with Mr. Davis’s tomb—”

“Meddle?” Emerson’s voice rose to a shout. “Peabody, I never—”

“Yes, you do! Aren’t you in enough trouble with—”

“I consider it my professional duty—”

“Your profession! It is the only thing that matters, isn’t it?”

As soon as the words left my mouth I regretted them. The handsome flush of anger faded from Emerson’s face; the lips that had been parted in anticipation of rebuttal closed into a tight line. The children sat like graven images, not daring to speak.

“I am sorry, Emerson,” I said, bowing my head to avoid his reproachful look. “I don’t know what is wrong with me this morning.”

“Delayed reaction,” said Ramses.

I turned on him. “You have been reading my psychology books again!”

Unlike his father, he was more amused than hurt at my reproof. I deduced this from the slight narrowing of his eyes, since no other feature altered. “We all feel it, I suppose,” he said. “As Nefret remarked, the change in our fortunes happened so suddenly and unexpectedly, it was difficult to take it in. A reaction was inevitable.”

Emerson reached for my hand. “Amelia, if you doubt that I would see every damned tomb in Thebes flooded before—”

“I don’t doubt it, my dear.” I pressed his hand. “I said I was sorry. Run along and—and try not to do anything of which M. Maspero would disapprove.”

“Try,” Emerson repeated. “Yes, I can do that. No, but seriously, Peabody, I haven’t forgot about that unpleasant business yesterday. There are still a few loose ends to be tied up, and I have every intention of following through on them. I’m not quite sure how to go about it, though. There is even a question of jurisdiction. She was part Egyptian and part European, and how the devil are the authorities to make a positive identification?” He caught my eye, and his old smile curved his well-shaped lips. “No, Peabody, I did not know her that well.”

I felt I had apologized quite enough, so I said only, “Very well, my dear. Since I know I can trust your word, I will stay home today. There are a number of little chores to do and little notes to write. I must invite the Masperos to dinner one evening. Have you any preference?”

“I would prefer that they declined,” said Emerson, rising.

I rather hoped they would too, for Emerson was sure to get into another argument with the Director. The invitation had to be proffered, however.

Nefret obviously yearned to take part in whatever underhanded scheme Emerson was considering, so I persuaded Emerson to let her go with him. I had to give him my solemn word that I would not “go haring off to the morgue to inspect that grisly set of remains,” as he put it.

It was pleasant being by myself for a change. I busied myself with neglected tasks, and wrote a long letter to Evelyn informing her of the happy ending (for everyone except Bertha) to our little difficulty. If I put it in the post this afternoon it would be at Chalfont almost as soon as they were. The postal service had improved greatly under British administration, which was not surprising.

I had meant to say something about the delicate family situation, but for some reason I could not find appropriate words.

The morning brought the usual messages, most of them hand-delivered. There was nothing from Mme. Maspero. Well, but they had only arrived the previous day, and according to the rules of proper etiquette it was up to me to make the first call. I penned a brief, friendly message, asking them to dine on the Friday.

One message was of interest, however, and I was perusing it when Fatima came to bring me another pot of coffee and a plate of biscuits.

“You are determined to make me fatter, Fatima,” I said with a smile.

“Yes, Sitt Hakim,” Fatima said seriously. “Sitt—is it true your enemy is dead?”

I wasn’t surprised that she should know of it. The verbal grapevine operates efficiently in small towns. “Yes, it is true. The danger is over. But where is Sir Edward? I haven’t set eyes on him this morning.”

“He is in his room, Sitt. Do you want I tell him to come?”

“Tell him he is welcome to join me if he likes,” I corrected gently.

She went off, repeating the words under her breath. Such dedication to learning! I really felt quite ashamed that I had not paid more attention to her studies.

Sir Edward promptly appeared, but he refused refreshment. “I am about to cross over to Luxor,” he explained. “Unless you or the Professor need me for something.”

“The Professor has already gone to the Valley. I decided to have a lazy day here at home.”

“You are certainly entitled to one. Well, then, I will see you this evening, if that is convenient.”

He appeared to be in rather a hurry. No, I thought; it is not Mr. Paul who inspires such devotion.

The family returned earlier than I had expected, bringing Abdullah and Selim with them.

“Well, did you accomplish what you hoped?” I asked.

“Yes.” Emerson was looking very shifty. “Most of it. Why are you wearing that frock, Peabody? I dare not suppose you put on your best for me.”

“I am going out to tea,” I replied, nodding at Fatima, who had hurried in with her usual food offerings. “I received an invitation this morning from Fatima’s teacher.”

“In this weather?” Emerson took a biscuit.

“It is not raining.”

“It will rain,” Abdullah declared. “But not until tonight.”

“There, you see? I have been meaning to meet the lady for some time, and have always been prevented. She has asked Miss Buchanan and Miss Whiteside as well, so it should be an interesting meeting.”

“Hmph,” said Emerson, fingering the cleft in his chin. “Very well, Peabody. Ramses and I ought to make a formal statement to the police. May as well get it over.”

We all went, including Abdullah and Selim. Fortunately we are all good sailors; the water was quite choppy and the boat bounced a good deal. I had to tie my hat down with a long scarf. At first Nefret could not decide whether to accompany me or go with the others. Detective fever won the day. I let her go without lecturing her, since I knew she hadn’t a chance of convincing Emerson, not to mention Ramses and David, that she should be allowed to examine the body.

Because of the blustery weather and the size of my hat, I decided to take a carriage from the quay. Emerson gallantly handed me in, and then got in with me.

“Now what is this?” I demanded. “Have you kept something from me, Emerson?”

“I have kept nothing from you, my dear,” said Emerson, waving the driver to proceed. “Have you kept anything from me?”

“Oh, for pity’s sake, Emerson, is it Sethos again? You cannot suppose I am in secret communication with him.”

“I wouldn’t put it past you.” Seeing my expression, he caught my hand and squeezed it. “That was just one of my little jokes, sweetheart. I would never doubt your affection, but I do doubt your good sense. You have such damnable self-confidence! If Sethos summoned you to a rendezvous, curiosity and trust in that man’s so-called honor would move you to respond. Admit it.”

“Never again,” I said earnestly. “My reticence has caused us trouble enough. Henceforth, my dearest, I will tell you everything. And the children too.”

Emerson raised my hand to his lips. “I don’t know that I would go as far as that,” he said, his eyes twinkling.

The school appeared to be closed for the day, but lighted windows shone warmly through the gloomy afternoon air. The streets were virtually deserted; the long skirts of the few pedestrians, male and female, blew out like sails. One guest at least had arrived before me; a closed carriage stood before the door. I wished ours had been of that sort, instead of an open barouche, for the air was foggy with windblown sand.

Our driver drew up behind the other carriage. Emerson helped me out and escorted me to the door. “I will come back for you in an hour.”

He was being absurdly overly cautious, but how could I deny him after those loving words? “An hour and a half would be better. À bientôt, my dear Emerson.”

A neatly garbed male servant opened the door, and just in time too, for my hat was about to leave my head. He waited until I had untied the scarf and straightened my skirts. Then he opened a door, bowed me in, and closed it after me.

The room was not a sitting room. It was small and scantily furnished and windowless. The only light came from a lamp on a low table. It was sufficient to let me make out the form of a woman who advanced to meet me. I could not see her face clearly, but I recognized her bonnet. I have a very keen eye for fashion.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Emerson. So good of you to come.”

“Mrs. Ferncliffe?” I exclaimed.

With a sudden leap she seized me in a grip as strong as that of a man. I knew her then; I had felt that grip before. It was no wonder I had not recognized Mrs. Ferncliffe, a lady of fashion if not of breeding, as Bertha’s formidable lieutenant. Matilda had always worn the severe costume of a hospital nurse and her hard face had been bare of cosmetics. It was my last coherent thought. Her hand clamped over the lower portion of my face and her steely arm defeated my struggles until I had breathed in the stifling fumes permeating the cloth she held.

When I came to my senses my head ached a bit, but the immediate effects of the chloroform had passed. The room in which I found myself was not the one in which I had been captured. It was larger and appeared to be furnished more comfortably, though I could not see much because only a single lamp relieved the gloom. There was a bed, at least; I lay upon it. Ropes bound my ankles and my hands were pinioned in front of me by something stronger than rope. When I tried to move them, a metallic jangle accompanied the gesture.

“Thank heaven!” a familiar voice exclaimed. “You have been unconscious since they brought you here some hours ago. How do you feel?”

I turned onto my side. There was enough slack in my bonds to permit that much movement, though little more.

My companion was in worse condition. Ropes bound him to the chair in which he sat. His hands were behind him, and I doubted he could move so much as a fingertip. His fair hair was disarranged and his coat was torn, and bruises marked his face. Except when he had been working in the heat of the Tetisheri tomb I had never seen Sir Edward Washington so untidy.

“How did you get here?” I croaked.

“Never mind that now. There is a cup of some sort of liquid on the table beside you. Can you reach it?”

I inspected the bonds on my wrists. They were handcuffs, connected by a rigid bar. A chain ran over the bar and up toward the head of the bed, where it was fastened with a padlock. The chain was not long enough to enable me to touch my bound feet, but I could just barely reach the cup.

He saw me hesitate, and said reassuringly, “The fellow who trussed you up so effectively took a swig or two before he left, so I doubt the stuff is drugged. Unsanitary, no doubt, but safe.”

The liquid was beer, thin and sour and warm and not entirely free of flies, but a lady cannot afford to be fastidious when her throat is as dry as a desert. I managed to pick some of the flies out before I drank.

“Amazing consideration,” I remarked, feeling considerably better. (The alcoholic content of the beverage may have had something to do with that.) “She hasn’t been so tender of you. Did you have a change of heart? If so, it was not very sensible to let Matilda know of it.”

“Why, Mrs. Emerson, what do you mean? The fact that you do find me in this position—and a confounded uncomfortable one it is, too—ought to be sufficient evidence that I am not on good terms with that formidable female, or her mistress.”

“Not at present,” I conceded. “Or so it would appear. However, as soon as I realized Bertha was our adversary, my suspicions of you revived. It is too much of a coincidence that you should appear on the scene only when she appears, and worm your way into our confidence.”

I had begun inspecting my bonds. Removing one of my hairpins, I stretched out and began probing at the padlock. Sir Edward watched with interest and, I thought, a trifle of amusement.

“That is clever of you, Mrs. Emerson. However, you are still mistaken. The game is up, it appears, so I may as well admit the truth. I would not like you to believe that I am an ally of Madame Bertha, as we call her.”

My fingers lost their grip on the hairpin. I raised myself on one elbow and stared at him. “Don’t try to tell me you are Sethos. I would know him anywhere, in any disguise!”

“Are you certain?” He laughed. “No, I am not Sethos. But I am closely connected with him, and Mme. Bertha was too, until she incurred his fury by arranging that clumsy attack on you. It was careless of him to let her get away, but he is a bit of a romantic where women are concerned—as you ought to know.”